


Hot Porridge

by letterando



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, other boys are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterando/pseuds/letterando
Summary: Seungcheol felt like he was about to die. It was not an exaggeration. No drama here whatsoever. He genuinely felt like he was drawing his last breaths.orSeungcheol's sick and Jeonghan scolds him while feeding him porridge.





	Hot Porridge

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed.  
> Wrote this after watching Going Seventeen EP 22. Since it turns out that Seungcheol is rooming with Wonwoo now, please take this as a slight AU.  
> This is fluff because I wanted to cheer myself up since Life is not pulling back any punches at the moment. I hope it cheers you up dears. Love you all.

 

 

Seungcheol wanted to put on record that he did not deserve this.

Wrangling a dozen hyper-active kids at the end of a short vacation in a secluded resort was no small feat. The morning after the zombie game and the parting bows to the camera had been chaotic and playful, especially after everyone had their breakfast, the intake of caffeine and glucose kick-starting everyone’s brains and leveling up the general playfulness to the max.

Seungcheol couldn’t begin to fathom where the blame lied, to be honest. Was it the managers’ fault, who found a villa with multiple pools inside and outside for an October retreat? Was it Seungkwan’s, Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s and Chan’s fault for pushing each other around and jumping onto each other as everybody was waddling out of the villa with their bags, shouting or sighing in contentment about their long-waited, restful night?

In the end, he didn’t have anyone to blame but his stupid, clumsy ass. When Chan hopped onto Seungkwan’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride, way too close to the edge of the external pool, Seungkwan’s body lost the battle against gravity, but as fate wanted, he didn’t fall towards the house, but towards the surface of the water. Seungcheol did see Jeonghan’s arm stretching towards the falling boys, but even though the younger member had been working out with him, he knew Jeonghan’s newly-developing muscles would fail him on this occasion, and Seventeen was going to end up not with two but three soaked members.  

Seungcheol didn’t even pause to think, his body acted on auto-pilot. As if in a dream, he only distantly felt his bag sliding from his shoulder, falling to the ground, his body propelling itself forward with too much speed, his muscles pulling Seungkwan’s arm with too much momentum, the water rushing in his ears, in his nose, in his mouth.

 

 

 

The following day, Seungcheol felt like he was about to die. It was not an exaggeration. No drama here whatsoever. He genuinely felt like he was drawing his last breaths.

He was currently shivering under his thin half season blanket, craving Jeonghan’s winter quilt that he knew was in the top drawer of their shared wardrobe. But he was feeling way too weak and nauseous to get up, let alone climb furniture to get to the top of their wardrobe. His joints went from those of a 20-something years old to those of a 90-something years old, hurting and creaking, and generally being completely useless and in the way. His chest hurt so much that he could pinpoint the exact location of all his ribs because each hurt so much every time he coughed. And the newest development was the pounding in his head, constant and impossible to distract himself from, it as if his heart had taken residence up there, the quiet ‘thump thump thump’ of pain resounding in his skull like a hammer.

Outside, the clouds parted in the sky and the room became inundated with the noon sun, which wasted no time in personally attacking Seungcheol’s eyeballs like it had a personal vendetta against him.

Seungcheol groaned pitifully, scrunching up his eyes and slowly, groggily rotated his body so that his face was buried in his pillow, but the move gave no comfort. It was so bright his headache was blooming into one hell of a migraine.

He fought the urge to try to shout for somebody to come and close the curtains or the shutters, and for two very important reasons. One, he was so focused on the pain and general suckiness that he didn’t remember the day’s schedule, he didn’t know where anybody was; and two, even in his state Seungcheol had enough pride about him that he didn’t want the kids to see him in that state.

It had been bad enough to be accompanied (read: dragged) to the doctor by the rappers’ vocal coach that morning when he showed up to his session half dead. The man was a father figure for him, but Seungcheol was adamant not to let the kids worry about his health. They had so much going on, he wanted to be there for them, to be dependable and reliable, not to add to their concerns.

In these situations he would contact Jeonghan, but his partner had been tense since the day before and Seungcheol didn’t want to bother him while he was clearly stressed out about something.

Thus, after he half-listened to the doctor’s instructions to rest, he had taken a painkiller and dozed in bed, hoping to be out and about after lunchtime, so that nobody could notice his absence, and more importantly so that Jeonghan wouldn’t have to stand up in his place and become even more stressed.

Seungcheol didn’t know how long he lazed in bed, half-awake and hurting, but it couldn’t have been much long since the goddamn sunlight was still streaming in through the window and the forecast had called clouds all day.

Suddenly, he heard the door being closed, and Jeonghan’s voice appeared out of thin air, as if Seungcheol had summoned him with his thoughts.

“Cheol,” murmured the younger boy, and Seungcheol paused a moment to bask in his (secret) boyfriend’s voice calling his nickname.

“Cheol, don’t you dare be asleep you utter idiot!” hissed Jeonghan, his voice approaching ominously, and Seungcheol would have sighed in mourning for his personal fantasy of an attentive, nursing lover before it was shattered by the harsh reality. However, the harsh reality fucked up his sigh, and all he produced was the breathless wheeze of a dying person instead.

“Oi, are you alive in there?” asked Jeonghan, and Seungcheol would have loved nothing more than be cognizant enough to catch the worried undertone in the younger’s voice.

However, as fate wanted, he was too busy being slowly killed by his migraine, the shaking that wrecked his torso down to his lungs, and let’s not forget the fucking sunlight, to parse expectation from reality.

As he wrapped his arms around his chest in a vain attempt to control his coughing fit, he felt hands on his shoulder and on his side and heard Jeonghan’s hissing out a curse.

The heat propagating from Jeonghan’s hands was comfortable and Seungcheol instantly wanted more of it all over, but before he could draw enough breath to ask the younger boy to hug him or something stupid like that, the twin weight of his hands disappeared and he heard the younger muttering angry curses around the room.

“W-Wha?” slurred Seungcheol after the coughing stopped.

“Where’s my duvet Cheol, do you remember?”

Seungcheol gave himself a moment to appreciate Jeonghan’s acumen and took a steady breath to direct the younger to the highest drawer of their wardrobe.

“Ah, he’s right…” whispered Jeonghan as Seungcheol struggled against his wish to turn around and take a look at the younger boy. He wanted to check if Jeonghan’s was making one of his sheepish expression, as they were utterly adorable and never failed to Seungcheol’s to the brink of detonation. But the room was still too bright and rotating his body now seemed a herculean feat which he wasn’t at all sure he could undertake.

It was a testament to how utterly helpless Seungcheol felt that he started tearing up when he felt Jeonghan wrapping the duvet around him, tucking in the thick, soft fabric along the shape of his body, right down to his feet.

With a half muffled sob, Seungcheol rotated his head enough to groan the word ‘curtains’ and when a moment later he heard the curtains being drawn shut, he bit his lips to reign in his sobs, and gave up on the tears. He didn’t know why but they just kept flowing. He hadn’t been pampered when sick in a long time. The last time he could recall, he was down with a fever at home and his older siblings had taken turns at checking up on him.

Due to his hazy, vulnerable state, he barely Jeonghan slipping between the duvet and his thin blanket. When he did notice, he wanted to tell Jeonghan that he was fine like this, he didn’t need company, he didn’t want to bother the younger boy, or take up his time, or add to his responsibilities, but he was still crying pathetically so he let Jeonghan plaster himself against him, one leg raised over his hip, one arm raised over his side, the other scrunched up in-between them, and his forehead resting against Seungcheol’s collarbone.

When Seungcheol became fully cognizant that Jeonghan was lying beside, he forced himself to take a series of deep breaths and calm down enough to wheeze in the silence:

“Y-you might… catch something.”

“Idiot,” countered Jeonghan immediately, his voice muffled by the fabric separating them. (Seungcheol hadn’t realized that the other boy was speaking softly on purpose). Either way, Seungcheol deeply appreciated it. “I know the doctor told you it’s not flu.”

Seungcheol sputtered a bit and struggled to let his head pop out of the blanket. Jeonghan was much closer than he had thought, and was sporting its ‘you’re-such-an-idiot’ expression, the one with the small smile which always made Seungcheol squirm a bit.

“You… how?”

Jeonghan closed his eyes and blew out a drawn-out sigh containing in equal parts exasperation and sassiness, the sound which reminded Seungcheol that Jeonghan was one of the most savage people he knew.

“Oh please. Everybody tell their mother everything, you know that.”

To which Seungcheol could only groan in frustration and tuck his chin in his pillow, willing the bed to swallow him whole. Meanwhile, Jeonghan was relating what his children had told him. The traitors.

“Soonie heard the vocal coach calling one of the managers and telling them a short version of what happened. Plus, Jihoonie saw you two stumbling in the corridor on your way out. I figured you would tell the kids it was nothing serious, or you wouldn’t tell anything, before collapsing in bed.”

‘You know me too well,’ wanted to say Seungcheol, but he figured that was too much in his current predicament, so he resorted to muttering “Spies,” and reveling in Jeonghan’s giggles.

A peaceful pause followed, in which Seungcheol was still feeling like shit, but at least he wasn’t a lonely shit anymore, and felt deeply grateful for Jeonghan’s presence. He was trying not to wonder about the tasks the younger was skipping to be there with him.

“Come on,” said Jeonghan suddenly, breaking him out of his trance. “I made soegogi-yachaejuk.”

At which Seungcheol let his eyelids fly open and craned his neck to look at Jeonghan in the eyes and try to detect the lie.

And… there it was, the smirk.

“Did not,” he muttered, letting his face fall in the pillow again. “Devil. Mentioning soup. Hungry.”

“I know. You were too busy being stupidly stubborn and getting sicker by the minute. You idiot.”

Seungcheol instinctively made himself small at the exasperation he heard in the last word.

Jeonghan slipped out of the bed, and Seungcheol closed his hands into shaking fists in lieu of begging Jeonghan to stay and cuddle him, he didn’t want to bother the younger boy further. He normally wasn’t so conscious of himself, and asked for things, even whined when they were alone, especially after a couple of glasses of soju or a couple of beers. But he felt particularly needy right now, which made him all the more determined not to involve anyone in his general state of suckiness.

“We don’t have beef but we did have some chicken,” said Jeonghan, still in the room. “Come on, get up and sit properly.”

In response, Seungcheol emitted a pained groan with a hint of inquisitiveness at the end of it.

“Get up so you can eat already, Cheol.”

Jeonghan’s final tone made Seungcheol curious enough to push his head further up his blanket spring roll and peek at the room. And just as Jeonghan said “I don’t know how you didn’t smell it already,” he saw his boyfriend cradling an honest-to-fucking-god steaming bowl by his desk.

“Seriously?” he asked the universe, convinced he was hallucinating.

“Seriously,” replied the universe with a hint of amusement, through Jeonghan’s mouth.

It didn’t take long for Seungcheol to throw his dignity (read: stubbornness) away and ask the younger boy for help in twisting his way out of his blanket spring roll.

When he finally reached a semi-seating, semi-prostate-from-the-pain position at the edge of the bed, torso and limbs shaking with fits of pain and intermittent waves of dizziness, Seungcheol had to fight the tears all over again when Jeonghan sat in front of on the desk chair and raised a spoon full of porridge to his lips.

The soup was good, if less flavorful than Seungcheol remembered, but it was hot and easy to chew and his body warmed up so quickly he became dizzy with it.

He swallowed several spoonfuls when he realized how patient and careful Jeonghan was being. Wordlessly, the younger boy kept dipping the spoon in the porridge and raising it to his mouth so carefully, not a single drop spilling from the porcelain edge. He kept waiting for Seungcheol to sip all the contents of the spoon, eyes on his mouth, then taking the spoon away to dip it into the porridge, again and again, the motion taking exactly long enough for Seungcheol to swallow.

When this realization kick-started his brain, Seungcheol’s hands instantly raised to cup the bowl. Despite having being warmed up well by the soup, his hands was cool against Jeonghan’s left one. He wondered if balancing the bowl with one hand all this time had been painful and grimaced as guilt stabbed him in the chest.

“I can hold it,” he muttered, wondering if the burning shame he felt was showing up on his cheeks and ears.

“Can you?” murmured Jeonghan back, without taking his eyes away from the spoon. His attentiveness only made Seungcheol’s guilt burn more painfully.

“I can. I’m-I’m feeling better already.”

Jeonghan hummed as Seungcheol carefully took the bowl and the spoon and started feeding himself. With the hot bowl in his lap, he allowed himself a few seconds to be selfish and childish, and mourned the loss of Jeonghan feeding him personally. His subsequent shame at this excessive neediness made him focus on the patience that his boyfriend had displayed so far, and he resumed eating.

“It’s delicious,” he blurted out of a sudden, the thought having come alight in his mind just an instant before. He nearly toppled the contents of the spoon as he looked up at Jeonghan and thanked the gods that no drops spilled over.

The younger boy’s focus was on him, and even though he was used to Jeonghan’s gaze by now, there was a bubbling emotion beneath his gaze that made Seungcheol wonder if he ought to prostrate himself and beg for his life. He shivered in apprehension and braced himself.

“Thank you,” he whispered, words finding only a movement of eyebrows and Jeonghan’s slumping back on his chair. The younger boy then started fiddling with his lips, which Seungcheol recognized as an unconscious tic he had when he was deep in thought.

Seungcheol swallowed with difficulty as the creeping sensation that he had something terribly wrong grew and grew. However, as he searched Jeonghan’s face for a clue, the younger broke his unreadable expression just to nod towards the bowl.

“If you’re feeling well enough to hold my precious porridge, the least you could do is finish it, you know.”

Seungcheol didn’t reply with a ‘yes, sir’ but it was a pretty damn near thing. He shivered in apprehension again and started to inhale the soup, not tasting it anymore, since he had heard an underlying mocking tone in Jeonghan’s words.

Scrutinizing the younger carefully, he realized that he hadn’t been mistaken. Finally, he recognized the glint in Jeonghan’s gaze. It was fury.

He almost bowed when he handed back the bowl and the spoon, his body shaking, divided between the warmth of the soup and the cold of the fear for whatever he did that made Jeonghan so mad.

They worked in perfect silence to tuck Seungcheol back in his nest of blankets and duvet, with the older boy dreading each passing second more and more.

He was feeling so weak and drained mentally on top of physically, that when Jeonghan emerged in his line of sight after having tucking in his feet, his vision was blurry at the edges.

For a split second Jeonghan’s barely contained anger broke in distress, but Seungcheol couldn’t see if it lasted because he closed his eyes in shame.

He had no idea why he was feeling so much worse after he had woken up from his nap. Weren’t naps supposed to be healing spells? They always were for him, but now it was as if his body had decided to wage war against him and feel all achy and hurt and overall really fucking shitty.

And it certainly didn’t help that he was forced to show Jeonghan this pathetic, nonsensical side of him when the younger boy had gone above and beyond and cooked comfort food for him, all the while he was apparently mad at him.

“You idiot,” muttered Jeonghan somewhere above him as cool thumbs swept the tears under his eyes. “You’re making me feel like shit now,” continued the boy with a strained tone in his voice.

Before Seungcheol could say anything, explain himself, say that he didn’t even understand where all this pathetic whining was coming from, Jeonghan undid half of his hard work and quickly pulled off the duvet and blanket from around Seungcheol’s hunched body, a breeze of cool air rushing in, before he quickly slipped under the covers.

Seungcheol opened his mouth to protest against Jeonghan being so close for fear of contagiousness, his mind still so hazy and clogged with too many thoughts and emotions that it took him a while to remember that this was all a shock reaction of his body to the preceding day’s impromptu water adventure. Once the thought was fully formed in his mind, he let Jeonghan tug him closer and pry his arms open.

Then he felt a pressure on his shoulder and once he groggily scooted lower on the bed, he let himself be pulled again until his nose pushed against a familiar collarbone and his right arm was moved over the outline of familiar lips, where he let his elbow rest.

He tried to take deep breaths and calm himself but it seemed like he had worked himself up to the point where he couldn’t stomp on his stress like he usually did. Instead, he had to scrunch up his eyes in attempt to stop the tears.

“Ugh… Sorry,” he mumbled against Jeonghan’s neck, feeling embarrassed and stupid. “Sorry… You’re mad,” he whined, repressing a sob.

Jeonghan was making little shushing noises against his hair, caressing his back slowly, but Seungcheol had the image of the younger boy’s furious gaze still burned in his mind.

“So-sorry,” he repeated, pushing himself back to take a look at Jeonghan’s face. But he was too weak for his limbs to listen to him, and Jeonghan kept him firmly close to his body.

“Don’t-Don’t be mad…” he whined again, but Jeonghan kept shushing him softly, and eventually Seungcheol stopped fighting and slumped against the younger boy.

Then, Jeonghan did one Seungcheol’s most favorite things in the world, namely brush his hair with his fingers. The rhythmic motion relaxed him enough that he could breathe in and register the familiar smell of the younger boy, the laundry detergent that they all used, a bit of sweat, a bit of broth, and the unique scent of Jeonghan, something that nothing and nobody could ever replicate.

Seungcheol deemed himself a good rapper, he thought he had a way with words, although certainly not at Jihoon’s level, he didn’t think he was merely decent, but even if he knew all the words in the dictionary, he was sure that he could never discover the appropriate words for Jeonghan’s specific smell.

Not that he could summon the energy to even think about wracking his brain for the words to describe Jeonghan’s smell right now. He only had enough energy left to push his right leg in-between the other boy’s and try not to push his face deeper into his shoulder.

“Yah, why are still crying? Are you in that much pain?”

Jeonghan’s strange tone, a not exactly successful attempt at indifference, stoked Seungcheol’s sense of guilt, making him squirm.

“No. I just… Just… I dunno.”

A long pause followed during which Jeonghan kept blissfully brushing his hair. But just as Seungcheol’s state of tension began to decrease, Jeonghan whispered:

“Say, am I a joke to you?”

At first, the words didn’t make a lick of sense to Seungcheol. Then he assumed Jeonghan was joking, but by the genuine inquisitive tone in the younger boy’s words had been unmistakable.

“Wha… Huh?” he murmured intelligently, which Jeonghan mistook for a genuine question and repeated the absurd sentence.

“What… Why’d you-you say tha’?” slurred Seungcheol, leaning back to try to get a good look at the other but with no success, his body dizzy trying to fight off the pain and the nausea.

“You’re half-dying and your phone is on the floor by your bed, I saw that the notification light works fine, so battery’s not dead. So why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were this sick and decided not to have lunch on top of that? Seriously, are we at the point that you don’t even tell me when you’re so sick you can’t move? Didn’t we agree not to do that with one another?”

Jeonghan’s voice climbed in volume and asperity until, after the end of his little furious speech, Seungcheol heard him take in deep breaths and try to muffle those low-throat growl-like noises he did when he spit fire.

Seungcheol waited until his migraine stopped ringing and the room turned back to its tense silence before attempting at explaining himself, his body instinctively shifting to curve more into Jeonghan’s.

“Honestly… Wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t bad? Cheol, Jihoon saw you stumbling in the corridor this morning. He said the vocal coach had to support you by your elbows! ‘It wasn’t bad’? Seriously?”

“Just had… Was just-” he paused for a coughing fit and tried not to focus on the pain radiating through his ribcage like wildfire. “Just nauseous… I‘sswear.”

Jeonghan blew out a drawn out sigh of frustration but kept holding Seungcheol close and carding his fingers through his hair, so Seungcheol was only mildly worried about the other’s reaction.

“Come on, sit up. You need to have a painkiller,” said Jeonghan, crawling out of the bed.

Seungcheol convulsed for a few seconds as a shaking fit seized his limbs, otherwise he could have kept Jeonghan close. As the situation was, he could only blearily blink up to Jeonghan’s frown.

“No need… Al-Already took.”

“Oh? When?”

“When… got ‘ack.”

“Well I have it on good authority that you came back around 10:30. It’s almost 4pm now.”

As before, Jeonghan’s words were so absurd to Seungcheol that his brains needed a few moments to register the words and put together the overall meaning. Alas, he was still too out of it to create intelligible sentences himself.

“Huh? What? …Wh… Seriously? But I slept… Like half an hour …Wha’?” he mumbled incoherently as Jeonghan pulled him up enough for his torso to emerge from the covers.

As Seungcheol suddenly became busy with propping himself up with his arms, Jeonghan fished a small piece of plastic from his pocket and took the water bottle from his desk.

Seungcheol thanked fate that he felt strong enough to bring the water bottle to his lips by himself before his limbs shook again. He truly was dying, he reminded himself.

He groggily scooted back inside his nest of blankets, ever thankful that Jeonghan had brought him his duvet, but stopped when he didn’t feel Jeonghan sliding inside after him.

He opened his eyes then, and truly enough Jeonghan was standing by the bed, regarding him with a frown which contained so many emotions that Seungcheol felt dizzy trying to parse through them. Pity? Anger? Scorn?

Honestly, thought Seungcheol, he was ready to take anything as long as Jeonghan cuddled him and caressed him like he had done before.

He slowly raised his right arm and meant to say ‘please come here’ but all he could muster was a whining “Nghh” sound, which only made Jeonghan scoff and turn around.

Which was, absolutely, not _on_.

In a sudden fit of (desperate) energy, Seungcheol pushed himself on his elbow and focused on Jeonghan’s retreating back.

‘Jeonghannie, please, come here,’ he wanted to say, but again, all his voice could form was a feeble “Babe…”  followed by a groan as the painkiller took its sweet time kicking in and a wave of nausea threatened to plummet him head-first off the bed.

The room darkened considerably, possibly because of the cloudy sky that had been forecasted for that day, but suddenly Seungcheol recalled how late it was, and thought that dusk was going to fall on Seoul soon. Meaning that Jeonghan probably had a thousand things to do, including standing in as the leader and checking on the kids.

Therefore, he let himself fall back on the pillow and tried to rub the pain away from his forehead, even if the rational part of his brains valiantly tried to tell him that it didn’t exactly work like that.

“Thank you,” he said in the end in the loudest volume he could muster, little louder than a pained groan, hoping to convey all his gratefulness for the porridge, the medicine, the cuddles, and yes, even the scolding.

As he settled back in his nest of blankets, though, he heard Jeonghan cussing under his breath and a moment later the covers were disrupted once again as the younger boy basically flung himself under them.

Seungcheol was roughly pushed in the previous position, but it wasn’t as relaxing as it had been before, since Jeonghan held him stiffly, with no trace of affection.

“Yah, I’m still mad at you,” muttered Jeonghan eventually. Seungcheol fought the urge to tell him that he didn’t need to point it out, his body spoke for itself loudly enough.

“Sorry,” he mumbled at Jeonghan’s chest, which made the younger boy squeeze his neck lightly for a second before settling his hand on his back.

“I hate it when you do that.”

Even though Seungcheol had an inkling at what the other boy was talking about, his hazy mental state made him unsure of even the most likely option.

“What?”

Jeonghan blew out a frustrated sigh before he replied.

“When you apologize and you don’t even know what the fuck you’re apologizing for. Ah, it makes my skin crawl.”

Seungcheol lied there, in Jeonghan’s stiff embrace, wrecking his brain to guess what had his boyfriend so hot under the collar.

At the same time, the painkiller fought his migraine off but left him dumbfounded and a bit nauseous. Feeling stupid and slow, he whined in his throat, slid his right arm under Jeonghan’s and slipped it around the other boy’s torso. He also pushed his leg in-between Jeonghan’s again, as it was one of their usual cuddling positions and it brought him comfort like few other actions. He whined again as he pulled himself closer to Jeonghan until he felt the other boy’s crotch against his belly.

He still thought about what had prompted Jeonghan’s anger, and he leaned back only when he was pretty sure (which in his current mental state amounted to about 64%) that he got it right.

“Because… I didn’t tell you? About being sick?”

Jeonghan inhaled deeply above him before he felt a nose brushing lightly against his messy locks.

“That’s part of it, yeah. We agreed on this, Cheol. It we’re sick, we tell the other. Unless it’s trivial things for us like a stomachache or some random headache. But if it’s serious-“

“Like overwork-“

“Exactly! Like stress from overwork, migraines, nausea…”

A pause followed, heavy with an uncomfortable silence.

Seungcheol’s mind was a whirlwind of remorse and guilt, and he understood how worried Jeonghan had been. The last time it happened it had been Jeonghan who neglected to tell him, but only because, as he claimed, he had been so stressed out and busy he literally couldn’t find the time to pick up his phone and send a message, let alone find Seungcheol and explain personally.

He recalled the mix of angry, guilty and worry he had felt when he had to give the younger a piggyback ride because he was too exhausted to walk to the dorm. He remembered how he had silently asked Jisoo to back him up as he mock played around after the photoshoot, culminating in him sliding a barely conscious Jeonghan on his back and carrying him from the car to their room.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against his chest.

After a few seconds, Jeonghan made a scoffing sound, but his fingers went back to Seungcheol’s locks, so who was the winner there.

“What are the other things?” he mumbled, happy that he could form words better now that the painkiller was kicking in.

“Yesterday’s fiasco,” replied Jeonghan immediately.

“Ah! I’m so mad just thinking about it! How many times do we have to talk about this Cheol? How many times? If you see the children fooling around when they shouldn’t, you’re supposed to call them out! You saw Kwannie and the others being hyper too close to the pool? Then fucking tell them to stop it! Ah, seriously! I know you don’t want to be a strict leader, I know you want to be loved by all the members, but you need to call them out on their shit when needed!

And later! Why the fuck did you tell the managers you slipped? I mean. I get _why_. You felt bad about throwing the kids under the bus for you. But fuck! If you didn’t take all the blame like some stupid noble soul you wouldn’t have ridden in the car with only a few washcloths to dry off as punishment. Which reminds me how much I hate most of the managers. The director isn’t half bad, but some of the managers are downright evil! Who the fuck cares about the schedule when you just took a dive in an external pool in October with no possibility to dry off completely and keep warm? Evil bastards, pieces of…”

Seungcheol felt himself shrink in guilt and shame at the first part of Jeonghan’s word vomit, but he ended up laughing by its conclusion. It helped that Jeonghan started caressing his back too, his hands working in tandem in the gesture that usually made an appearance after Seungcheol’s specialty: his painfully slow, stupidly doting sex style, as Jeonghan had dubbed it.

“Spoken like a true oldest sibling.”

“Tsk,” scoffed Jeonghan, tugging his hair lightly in reproach.

“Stop being such a maknae yourself. You’re not the youngest sibling here, so toughen up and learn to know when it’s time to be strict with the kids. Seriously though. This is taking years from my life.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, brushing his nose left and right, following the line of the younger boy’s collarbone. Jeonghan’s scent was so comforting, he felt utterly content now, his tears forgotten. “It’s really difficult for me, you know…”

Jeonghan sighed in exasperation above him. “Yeah. I know.”

“Thank you for being here and reminding me. I would be a total disaster without you.”

Jeonghan scoffed again. “Stop putting yourself down so quickly, idiot.”

“No, seriously. Jisoo would help, sure, but you care in another way. And not just ‘cause we’re together now. You always did. You were always the most attentive and you never let me hide any of my insecurities.”

After a short pause, in which only their breathing could be heard, Jeonghan claimed: “Fuck, you’re such a sap when you’re sick.” Making Seungcheol huff out in laughter, even though it made his torso hurt and prompted a long coughing fit.

“Spoon me, please?”

Jeonghan sighed in exasperation again. “How about no. I know you’re going to take this as a compliment but your shoulders are stupidly big. It’s awkward to spoon you now.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help it, he started cackling.

“Yah, stop laughing, idiot! And stop working out so much! I truly hoped you’d tone it down if I went with you. Seriously, what do you need all these muscles for? Do you wanna bench-press the whole of Seventeen at the Melons?”

Wheezing and coughing in laughter Seungcheol was helped in rotating his lumpy body until his vision was filled with the beige wall, and he felt the younger boy’s hands on his abdomen, promptly covering them with his own.

Jeonghan shuffled behind him until Seungcheol felt his belly, crotch and thighs align along his body and he let out an instant sigh of contentment. The majority of the time he was the big spoon, happy to pamper Jeonghan as much as the other boy wanted to be pampered, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like being the little spoon. On the contrary, he dutifully treasured every single second of Jeonghan summoning up enough energy to pamper him in return. Seungcheol wondered if it would be wrong of him to thank this strange, sudden illness since it had been a while since he Jeonghan had spooned him.

“You like my muscles though,” he murmured sleepily, lulled by Jeonghan’s breath on his nape, the steady heartbeat against his back, as well by the slow motion of the other boy’s hands, sliding to his waist until they slipped under his t-shirt.

He felt Jeonghan’s thumbs grazing his happy trail as comfort and safety settled over him in lazy, tidal waves.

“And my body hair,” he mumbled.

Jeonghan hummed noncommittally behind him, but Seungcheol was sure that the younger boy’s beautiful lips were drawn up in a fond smile.

“Muscly boar,” whispered Jeonghan before Seungcheol felt lips on his shoulder.

“ _Your_ muscly boar,” he mumbled back before unconsciousness claimed him.

 

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_fin_

 

 


End file.
